


Walking Alone In the Light

by Crowlex



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gobblepot whump, Graphic Description, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowlex/pseuds/Crowlex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gordon's greatest fears manifests itself into reality, he finds himself at a crossroad. Which path will he choose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking Alone In the Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrowleySinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleySinger/gifts).



> This one's for you. Because I know that you adore these two as much as I do. Remember we had that Gobblepot fic chat and how I'd write something about these two? Yeah... I started this after 'The Scarecrow' but never got around to finish it until now. I know, that was eons ago. Hope you like it, I tried my best. c:

It was on the tip of his tongue, an unreachable scratch in his brain that made him want to beat his head on the wall until the answer tumbled out from the place it had lodged itself in.

Jim scanned the sea of crime scene photos, trying to find the common denominator that unified them all together. He knew there was something else at work here. He just didn’t know what.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Harvey said as he came up behind Jim, a bear like hand landing on the younger man’s head and ruffling what hair he had. Jim shook his head innocently as his partner sat on the ledge of the table to join him.

“Nu uh, you can’t hide anything from me, partner,” Harvey scolded, catching the mischievous glint in Jim’s eyes. “I know when those messed up cogs and wheels in that head of yours start turning. It’s so loud, I can hear it clear across the room.”

“You’re probably the only one,” Jim replied with a small smile that he hid behind his hand thoughtfully pressed against his lips.

There was an unamused snort, accompanied with an eye roll that Harvey didn’t need to explain any further but did anyways to make a point like he always did. “Hate to break it to ya, buddy, but  _I am the only one_.” He folded his arms against his chest as he surveyed the content on the table. “And the only one crazy enough to keep them turning until one day, people find both of us hanging like butchered cattle in front of this place, laughing at the two dumb asses of the GCPD who had it a long time coming.”

There was nothing better than starting off the morning with Harvey’s grumbling and a chain of murder cases shackling his intuition as its prisoner, begging to be solved. Just another day at the GCPD and Jim was itching to get started. Harvey must have read it on his face because his partner ran a hand down his bearded face, exasperated weariness weighing down on his dramatically sagging shoulders, all punctuated with a gigantic sigh.

“What’s on the agenda for today? Assuming we’ll live through another day.”

Jim stood up from his chair, clapping his partner on the shoulder as a gesture of silent thanks. “That’s the spirit.” He grabbed two steaming coffee mugs nearby that he’d knowingly prepared. He offered one to his partner who snatched it out of his hand in enthusiasm.

“At least you still have some manners. Or what’s left of it anyways.” Harvey took a sip, nodding in approval. “You make one mean cup of coffee.”

Jim took a careful sip of his own. “Well, I _am_  dumb ass number one. It’s only fair.”

The look of mock bewilderment on Harvey’s face almost made Jim spit all the liquid in his mouth back into his cup. “Congratulations.” Harvey offered his free hand for a handshake. “You’re the first self-aware dumb ass I’ve ever had the bad luck of meeting.”

Jim jammed the outstretched hand with a casefile that he’d picked up instead. “Let’s get to work. We’ve still got a job to do, dumb ass,” he shot back coolly, setting his cup distractedly off to the side as his hand landed on the very first modus operandi photo.

“Smart ass.”

The grumbled retort lodged itself into the back of Jim’s head, breaking his poker face temporarily with a grin. He cleared his throat, swiftly regaining his composure before Harvey could see, too occupied with his coffee to notice.

His partner got the message though, rolling his eyes at the younger man’s enthusiasm. “Alright, alright, Jesus. I forgot I can’t even enjoy my coffee or food with you around. What have we got?”

Harvey fell quiet before he choked on his coffee, sputtering. “Daughter killing mother? Girlfriend killing boyfriend? Brother killing sister? What the hell is wrong with this city?”

Jim was at a loss for words himself. There were a total of nine of murders with similar circumstances, the rooms locked from the inside. Each person involved had no criminal records, not even minor ones but somehow had ended up killing the people that meant the most to them.

“Something else is going on here,” he finally said grimly. “And we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”

“Adrenal glands going missing too?” Harvey said in disgust as he looked at the contents of the other folder that contained a string of whole different set of murders. “People in Gotham are just psychos, the whole lot of ‘em,” Harvey replied. But he knew Jim was right, there was something else going on. He just didn’t want to know the truth as much as Jim did.

* * *

 

The detective must have had a lot going on to reject his invitation with so little consideration, laced with such hostile disregard. Oswald waved away his assistant’s offer to get into the car that was waiting for him, choosing to walk instead, even if his limp made the trip a lot longer than it should be. He wanted some fresh air as well as some time to think - he had a lot on his mind after all. 

He was doing well for himself. The club was  _his_ , at long last. It was baby steps but he was making his way to the top and couldn’t stifle his excitement for the opening night he had planned for the occasion. For some odd reason, he had absolute faith in Jim Gordon to show up. This was no different from before when he had made the decision to entrust his life to the officer. Jim would always pull through; there was no doubt about it. It was that fierce sense of loyalty to justice that seemed to be part of Jim’s charisma that Oswald found so admirable. 

He gasped softly when he felt bulky muscle clip the side of his shoulder that he almost lost his footing due to his limp but somehow, managed to keep himself from falling. 

“P- pardon me,” he stuttered apologetically, having been completely immersed by his thoughts that he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going. He barely caught a glimpse of the person’s face, finding that the man was already making his way down the street without so much as an apology. He pursed his lips tightly as he seethed at the disrespect. 

Gotham would soon bow down to him. The time would come when he wasn’t an invisible shadow but a crowned king. He whirled around, anger fueling each step as he continued toward his intended destination. He was so lost in his vexed thoughts that he didn’t see the masked man until he was pushed off the street into an alleyway, a sweet smelling cloth clamping over his mouth that sucked out the strength from his limbs that he didn’t even get a chance to struggle as he was unconscious before he was even thrown into the back of a moving van that quickly drove away.

* * *

 

Jim ran a hand through his hair in conflicted annoyance. Why, of all people, did Oswald Cobblepot have to invite him to some party meant for thugs? He was an officer of the law who honestly shouldn’t even be mingling with someone like Cobblepot. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Why was Oswald taking this the wrong way? Their relationship was simply business and it was apparent that the other man misunderstood what that meant.

At the same time, there was no doubt that they needed each other. It was a complete paradox that Jim was unable to free himself from. He was just too greatly outnumbered in a city with so many twisted people that he was forced to compromise. Unfortunately, beggars couldn’t be choosers but Jim was well aware that it probably would have been worse if he had been forced to join hands with anyone other than Oswald.

 _Walking_ _with a friend in the dark is better than_ _walking alone in the light_.

The words still lingered in his mind but he’d already decided what was certain. **They weren't friends.**  They were enemies, complete polar opposites of each other, destined to claw at each other’s throats until one of them bled dry. Law and crime. Good and evil. Angel and demon. They’d chosen their sides and would inevitably meet on the battlefield, bound to their own moral loyalties. It was only a matter of time. The day would come when only one of them would remain standing and yet…

Jim stared down at his left hand that was clenched in a frustrated fist before unraveling his fingers to expose his palm.

_Slender but surprisingly warm fingers gently cupping the back of his hand, making his thumb flinch at the unexpected fondness in the small gesture –_

_–_ _an invitation being placed into his outstretched hand, insistently polite –_

He dropped his hand to his side, cutting off the dangerous path his mind was wandering towards. There was only one thing Oswald was right about and that was the fact that he needed an inside man who was part of the underworld he would never be a part of. Jim may have turned down Oswald’s invitation because of his hasty and short sighted decision but now, he was having second thoughts. The other man’s parting words drifted around in his mind and as much as he wanted to deny it, Cobblepot had a point. He made his way back to the trash bin where the black crumpled up invitation seemed to look sadly up at him, green and pleading eyes flashed in his mind. He reached in hesitantly and pulled it out, trying to rub out the wrinkles as best as he could, sighing in resignation as he stuffed it into the inner pocket of his jacket. 

Harvey clapped his back, joining him while pointing at Jim's chest where the invitation had disappeared to. 

"How come I didn't get one of those?" he asked in a deceivingly innocent tone, layered with a hidden jibe beneath it. 

Jim grit his teeth, knowing that his partner wouldn't let this one go. Ever. 

Harvey smiled mischievously at Jim's silence. "Only a boyfriend exclusive, huh? That's real cute, man." 

Jim shot a blazing glare at his partner whose smile only widened at his response. He raised a fist threateningly as Harvey smugly danced away out of reach toward the exit. 

"You comin' or not, lover boy? We’ve got cases to solve!" Harvey hollered as he pushed the door open. They did. The adrenal gland murders had been linked with a Gerald Crane who had escaped his arrest. He hadn’t had any luck on the other set of murders that seemed to have left no clue as to what could have happened for individuals to kill their loved ones in brutal ways that would have made Hannibal proud.

Jim shook his head at Harvey’s comment, straightening his jacket as he followed suit but stopped when he felt his phone vibrate. It was a text… from Cobblepot. That was strange. Oswald preferred directly speaking him rather than texting so this was a first. It asked him to meet at the address that was included. Seeing as how Oswald was bold enough to visit the GCPD, Jim decided he’d yield to the request. He’d have to come up with a good excuse for Harvey though.

* * *

 

Gordon sat in his car, looking over the abandoned factory grounds with a wary gaze. It wasn’t unusual that Oswald requested that they meet in places away from public eyes – hell, they’d met in places worse than this one so why was he so paranoid about this whole meet up? 

He patted his waist, reassured by the metallic outline of his gun as he slammed the car door shut. Oswald or his car was nowhere to be seen. He approached the entrance slowly, listening for any movement behind it. Every muscle in his body was tense in anticipation, hand never leaving his gun as his free hand slowly opened the door. He was greeted with the smell of old stale cardboard boxes and dust. 

He withdrew his gun now as he looked around for any sign of Oswald. This whole thing reeked of a trap that had been set up for him and he could feel a silent rage pulsing through him at the mere thought of it. He wasn’t surprised though - men like Oswald were all the same. None of them were to be trusted, no matter what they said and he was ready to meet this head on. The anger fueled his senses with adrenaline, making him sharply aware of his surroundings. The warehouse had boxes and crates stacked up on top of each other, some reached the ceiling even, creating a twisted labyrinth with no clear vantage point of the entire room. He was going to have to wing this one. 

Gordon pointed the gun in front of him as he made his way through, some being dead ends as he made slow progress through the massive warehouse. His footsteps were the only thing he could hear as he quietly reached a metal staircase. No doubt someone would be waiting at the top for him. He carefully made his way up the steps as it rattled under his weight. 

The door burst open as Gordon prepared to meet an ambush on the other side.  There was none, only the fading echo of his entrance filled the long dark hallway lined with various rooms on both sides. A muffled noise sounded close and he perked up at the sound. With the gun aimed in front of him, he took careful measured steps, treading stealthily toward the closed room to his left with practiced ease. Another muzzled yell from behind the door verified that he had the right place.

He burst into the room, gun trained in front of him, ready for anything. Instead, he found Oswald’s fearful wide eyes, wildly shouting muffled words against the black cloth that gagged his mouth when he saw who his savior was.

“Oswald?”

The other man was tied up, both hands and feet to the chair placed in the center of the room. His gun lowered slightly without him even meaning to which set off Cobblepot off who furiously struggled to get free, shaking his head as his eyes darted off to the side.  Jim barely got the message in time, only getting the opportunity to turn his head in the general direction to see a gigantic blur ram into his side. He grunted at the impact that sent his gun flying out of his hand at the same time the breath was knocked right out of him as momentum sent him flying. He twisted his body just in time, his back smashing into the wall, hard; he couldn’t feel his head and every breath he took seemed like it wasn’t enough.

Oswald watched Jim slump to the ground like a ten ton brick, his heart sinking with dread as the burly man knelt over the detective. He couldn’t help but think it was over… for the both of them. A cry of pain proved him otherwise as he watched in bewilderment at Jim completely overpower the man twice his size. The first punch flattened the other man on his back, caught completely by surprise. Jim took advantage of the small window of opportunity, staggering back on his feet using the wall as support. A kick that looked like it held a lot of pent up fury aimed at the grounded man’s temple knocked him unconscious.

Jim’s shoulders heaved, mouth wincing visibly as if every breath he took was excruciating. The detective gingerly felt the back of his head, hissing as his hand withdrew bloody.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Jim groaned to himself, shuffling to Oswald who was back to insistently saying something but he was pretty sure he could make out his name in there somewhere. “Hang on,” he grit out, reaching around the other man’s head with both hands to undo the gag.

“As happy and grateful as I am to see you, my dear friend,” Oswald said rapidly as soon as he could speak, “I must ask, did you already take care of his friend?”

Jim followed Oswald’s eyes behind him toward the unmoving body before turning back. “Friend?”

Both of their eyes widened simultaneously in realization.

“Don’t move,” a voice commanded, accompanied by a click of metal that told them exactly who was in charge.

Jim raised both arms slowly into the air in a gesture of surrender.

“Turn around.”

Oswald helplessly looked up at Jim, feeling useless as he was still bound. His captors hadn’t touched a hair on him but Jim on the other hand, looked worse for wear. The detective’s dress jacket was a wrinkled mess, clinging onto one shoulder more than the other in a crooked dangle. His tie was flung over his other shoulder and his usually well-kept hair was a wild mess of blonde but when their eyes met, those ice blue eyes gleamed tenaciously, a confident fury flashing in the dim light. Jim gave him a curt nod as if to reassure him… instead, his stomach bottomed out as the detective’s back was the only thing he could see.

Jim arched an eyebrow when he saw a slightly familiar face. “You.” It was the thief that Oswald had been having a blast beating up the first day they met.

“Thought you’d seen the last of me, huh?”

Jim’s eyes were trained on the gun pointed at his chest but he stayed rooted in place. “I’m glad to see that you’re alive,” he replied dryly. “Although I wonder how you pulled that off.”

A raspy laugh filled the room as the other man took a step closer. “Me too, man. Me too.”

Jim didn’t like the bitter way the words were spat out. His whole body ached in protest as every muscle tensed prepared for the worst… but the most bizarre thing about it was that he found himself more worried about the well-being of the man behind him rather than himself.

“What’s your name?” Jim asked, a brave edge in his voice. He was trying for a less aggressive approach rather than go through another round of clashing testosterone. But he was ready to go there if he had to. That gun was the only problem. If Oswald got hit –

“You care _now_ , don’t you, detective?” The barrel waved around in the air before fixating on him again. “Because I have this.” Another step. “Name’s Markus.”

“Look, Markus –” Jim started but cut off as Markus’ finger dangerously tightened around the trigger.

“You call yourself a cop,” Markus sneered. “But you left me to die with the sharks, boy.”

“I beg to differ,” a voice said dauntlessly behind Jim who looked over his shoulder with a ‘what the hell are you doing’ frown. The only reply he got was a shaky shrug. “Detective Gordon made me drop the bat if you recall which is more than enough. Forgive my honesty but anyone can see that a thief like you isn’t worth any further risk.”

The bold words hung in the air like a dense fog, the tension thick during the heavy pause that followed. Jim turned back to Markus who took another step, now only an arm’s length away from him. He hoped that if he didn’t move away, his insolence would gear Markus’ attention back to him. It didn’t.

The gun pointed over to empty space off to the side before locking onto him again. “Move.”

“Wait,” Jim gently protested, staying exactly where he was. “We can talk this out, you and I. Talking to him won’t help you, he’s just a low life.” He hoped Oswald wouldn’t take what he said personally but the situation called for it.

“And you’re not?” Markus questioned darkly. “Now, I’ll only say it one more time. Move your ass over.”

“It’s alright, Jim.”

What was Oswald doing? But there was nothing else he could do. He regretfully stepped off to the side as the gun followed him.

“Penguin!” Markus exclaimed and Jim could swear that Oswald’s foofy hair bristled at the nickname. “I always knew you had a mouth on you, even if you acted like some nervous school girl all the time.”

“Leave Detective Gordon out of this,” Oswald replied menacingly, unwilling to fall for the taunt. “Your quarrel is with me.”

“You know, you two are really funny.” With his free hand, Markus reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a needle filled with a huge dose of a clear aquamarine liquid. “I expected you guys to take turns throwing each other under the bus but here you are, acting like you guys hate each other but volunteering as tribute at the same time. Unless…” There was a thoughtful pause as Markus’s eyes flicked between Jim and Oswald. “… unless, you two have that whole ‘bros for life’ thing going on.”

“No,” Jim interjected swiftly. “Not even close.” He kept his complete attention on Markus but was unable to avoid catching the mournful look Oswald shot in his direction out of the corner of his eye.

Markus nodded. “Alright, fair enough. Tell you what, I’ll give you guys a choice then. One of you guys can walk free if the other injects himself with this.” Markus held the needle up for them to see. “So, who’s it gonna be?”

“Me,” two voices said together.

Markus guffawed in amusement. “Now isn’t this just precious? Penguin and Gordon sitting in a tree –“

“Shut up and give it to me,” Jim snarled, palm open in insistence.

“Touchy touchy,” Markus scolded as he threw the needle at Jim who caught it delicately. “Go on then, detective. Shoot up.”

“No wait,” Oswald protested but Jim paid no attention. He carefully placed the syringe in his mouth, gently biting down on it so that both hands were free to shrug off his jacket which he threw on the floor. He didn’t notice the crumpled black paper that glittered silver with Oswald’s name that fell out onto the floor in his haste as he held out his arm in front of him, the other undoing the buttons on the sleeve of his dress shirt. He pulled the sleeve up to expose his forearm, taking the syringe from his mouth with his free hand so he could bite down on the needle cap. He spit it on the floor, glowering at Markus who smirked at him.

“It’s like watching a soldier lock and load,” Markus observed.

Jim glanced at the content of the syringe. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“And you’ll let Penguin go if I do this?” Jim questioned bluntly.

“Stop it, Jim!” Oswald sounded furious, a venomous bite in each word but Jim ignored him.

“I’ll let you do the honors yourself.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but Markus was already backing away to the doorway. “Go on, detective,” the other man encouraged as he reached the doorway, his gun fixed on Oswald now. “And face your greatest fear. Whatever that is.”

_Fear._

_The two different sets of murders he and Harvey had been assigned to._

Something clicked in Jim’s head at the comment and his eyes followed Markus’ who was focused on something in the corner of the room. A camera blinked back at him.

“You work for Gerald Crane, don’t you?” Jim surmised, piecing everything together.

“Dang. You’re as good as everyone says you are,” Markus complimented in genuine surprise. “And being in charge of collecting test subjects for him, I knew you two would be the perfect candidates, especially after what you two did to me.”

“Killing two birds with one stone,” Oswald thought out loud, voicing a hidden worry that didn’t escape Jim’s notice.

They were never meant to get out of this alive.

“That’s a way to put it,” Markus agreed with a proud grin. “You’re a bird alright, Penguin but Jim here… he’s more of a lion than a bird, I’d say.”

Oswald glared at Markus, lips pursed in stifled anger but said nothing.

Jim looked at the liquid in the syringe, thinking. If it was what he thought it was, it wasn’t going to kill him. At least, not right away. That gave him time and he could do hell of a lot; they still had a chance. He placed the needle where his vein ran blue, transparent through his skin. It was in that moment that, all of a sudden, he found himself yearning for some sort of reassurance. Maybe it was the overshoot of adrenaline that made him lose his rational thought. Or maybe it was the fact that deep down, he wasn’t sure if he’d live through this. Whatever it was, all he knew was that he needed it, badly, so he gazed up from his arm, only to find Oswald watching him, an inscrutable expression in his dark green eyes. Their eyes locked and in that moment, Jim found an unexplainable comfort in those emerald flames that blazed with unspoken emotions better left unsaid.

“Please, Jim,” Oswald insisted forlornly, sounding as if he somehow knew his attempt was futile. “It should be me.”

Then, the most amazing thing happens. For the first time – since Oswald’s known the detective – Jim  _smiles_. At him, of all people. It’s a slight smile, more of a mischievous grin that shed light on a side of the detective he’d never imagined, but a smile nonetheless and an earnest one at that. It’s brief, lasting no more than a moment, but enough to make something light in his chest flutter. A lightness that made him want to smile back for no reason at all, despite their current situation.

“To partners,” Jim said with renewed confidence as if he was making a toast, completely crushing Oswald’s short lived happiness. He watched in stunned horror as the detective stabbed the needle into his arm, the liquid quickly disappearing. When the syringe was empty, Jim chucked it to the floor just as the room to the door shut, clicking as it was locked from the outside. The detective ran to the door with startling agility, slamming his fists on it in fury.

“We made a deal!”

Markus snickered from behind the door. “I said one of you could walk free. I never was specific.” There was a taunting knock from the other side that filled the room. “I’m going to have fun watching this all play out, detective. You’re going to be my punisher.” With that, footsteps walked away until it all but faded down the hallway.

If the drug was supposed to work quickly, Jim didn’t feel anything. No distorted vision. No aching headache. No physical changes that he could feel. Maybe it was a placebo… he hoped so.

“Are you alright?” Oswald asked fearfully but Jim heard every word clearly.

“I’m fine,” he replied slowly, not quite believing it himself. Nothing was out of the ordinary. He heard a voice whisper in his ear and his head snapped in the general direction to find the wall of the room staring back at him.

He made his way to his gun that was in the far corner of the room from being disarmed earlier and shoved it into the back of his pants before making his way over to Oswald. He quickly undid the binds and let the other man take care of the rest as he made his way back to the door in a directionless rush.

“We’re going to get out of here,” he announced, bracing himself to throw himself against the door.

“Oh, I’m sure you will.” Maybe it was the way Oswald said the words. Maybe it was a gut feeling but it fell  wrong.

He spun around, eyes widening at the scene before him. The room was painted with scarlet red blood, splattering the walls in red and dripping from the ceiling, a pool of blood that spread across the entirety of floor, his shoes at the very edge of where it stopped. Bodies lay on the floor, fresh blood spurting from their cut throats. Taking a closer look, it was all the people he knew and his heart stopped when he realized it. It was his partner, Harvey and his girlfriend, Leslie. It was Bruce and Selina and his butler, Alfred. It was Sarah and Edward and Barbara, even. The dead unblinking gaze of theirs was accusing.

And in the middle of the room stood the man he thought he was in the middle of saving, splattered with blood from head to toe.

“Oswald,” he breathed out. The stink of iron and death filled the room.

“Hello Jim,” Cobblepot answered with a fond, bloody smile.

At first, he had no idea why Jim looked so stunned and confused but then when the detective whispered his name with wide horrified eyes, he knew something was wrong. The drug, no doubt, was at work. Oswald rubbed his wrists to get some circulation back into his hands as Jim stared at him with distant eyes, seeing something he couldn’t.

Oswald nodded reluctantly, unsure of what to say. He had no idea what the full extent of the drug was and what it was doing to the detective but he had to start somewhere.

Cobblepot regarded him quietly.

“This isn’t real.” Jim closed his eyes. This was the drug. This was the damn drug.

“Oh, it’s very real,” Cobblepot answered, ominously cheerful. “It took you a while for you to wake up though.”

Jim’s eyes snapped open to find Cobblepot, bloodied and still there. The blood, bodies, the smell – everything was still there and he could still hear Cobblepot’s voice as clear as day. The other man tilted his head curiously.

Jim rubbed his temple on either side of his head, closing his eyes.

His eyes split slowly.

“Still here,” the other man said smugly with arms open, his right hand clutched around a bloodied knife.

“What – why – ” Jim’s mind was short circuiting. “No,” he whispered, his mind reeling.

No, no, no, this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

He searched the room mindlessly until he found who he was looking for. He stumbled towards her, almost slipping in the thick pool of blood. He knelt over Leslie’s body, not minding the cold scarlet liquid that seeped into his pants and turned her over to find her eyes staring blankly at him. Her body’s fading warmth crushed any irrational hope he held onto as he cradled her head close to his chest, fingers wet with her blood as numbness filled his heart.

“I’m sorry my friend but it had to be done,” Cobblepot said behind him.

The words were just dull thunder in Jim’s ears. He looked at his hand, red and wet. With Leslie’s blood. He took a shaky breath in, greeted only by the smell of death. He shut his eyes. This couldn’t be real. But the wet blood on his hands and soaking his pants and the disgusting smell of it told him otherwise.

A rage took hold of him, creeping into his blood and turning it black.

“Why?” The one word came out surprisingly controlled and calm in complete contrast to the darkness building up inside of him.

“Because I’m the only friend you need, Jim. Because these other people, they’re just dead weight.”

The word echoed Jim’s head and it triggered his pent up fury. He gently laid Leslie back onto the ground, mournful fingers gently brushing her eyes closed.

Oswald limped over to where Jim was hunched over on the ground, peering over the detective’s shoulder to find nothing. The detective was talking to himself which wasn’t a good sign. He reached out, putting a hand on Jim’s shoulder, feeling muscle tense into steel. “Jim?”

The detective looked over his shoulder at him – the edges of usually blue eyes were of a deep scarlet red – filled with an animalistic rage and such hatred that it made him gasp as if he’d been dropped in ice cold water.

There was no time to react as Jim, with surprising agility, launched himself with a bloodcurdling shout at Oswald. He cried out as he was tackled to the ground, unable to recover as the detective’s heavy weight pinned him to the floor as Jim straddled him.

Jim yanked him by the lapels of his jacket and shook him roughly before jamming his face unnervingly close. “You want to be friends, huh?!?! That badly?!” Oswald could feel the heat of Jim’s angered breaths and the wild anger in his eyes that wasn’t like the detective at all. “You sick minded bastard!”

A punch sent his head smashing to the ground, his vision blacking out and barely recovered before Jim pulled him back up again. “Stay with me,  _friend_ ,” the detective spat out bitterly into his face. “We’re just getting started.”

Oswald didn’t get a chance to speak as another punch connected into the side of his face.

“I should have let Maroni take your head!”

Another punch.

“I should have killed you on the docks that day!”

The rain of punishment was relentless, punctuating the end of each sentence with a brutal blow but nothing compared to the pain he felt from Jim’s words. Oswald weakly spat out blood to the side, only to have Jim pull him back up again.

Cobblepot looked up at him with a daring grin, bruised in a couple of places and the corner of his lips bled, but the other man seemed unfazed. “You wouldn’t be where you are without me and you know it.” Jim raised his bloodied fist, panting. “Your other friends died at my hands because they’re weak and let’s be honest, you are too if you keep them around. They’re going to die sooner or later, Jim because danger follows you everywhere you go. Strong friends will get you far. Weak friends will only hold you back but I think I resolved that problem, don’t you think?”

With a roaring shout, Jim was merciless in doling out his wrath.

Oswald was physically outmatched and the drug’s effects had taken a deep hold on Jim’s mind, although it seemed to reveal Jim’s true feelings of him at the same time. Markus must really be enjoying the show, he thought bitterly to himself. Jim was, indeed, a perfect punisher, giving him the same sentence that he’d carried out on Markus that rainy day. His head felt like a hanger had been shoved into his head, the bent edges of it creating a skull splitting headache but Jim was skillful, dealing out just enough force in his punches that left him in pain but not enough to spare him from it.

Mustering the last of his strength and remaining consciousness, both of his hands clamped around one of Jim’s wrist that still held onto his jacket. The raised fist paused in the air and the red threatening to envelope the blue irises of Jim’s eyes withdrew, leaving them pristine and clear. _There_  was the Jim he knew.

For a split second, Jim swore he saw Oswald’s eyes soften only to be replaced again by the manic look that suited him just as well.

“Do it, Jim. Kill me. I know you’ve always wanted to or else I’ll end up killing you someday.” Cobblepot shrugged weakly at him. “One of us has to go because of that moral complex of yours. Better me than you, right?”

It was then – in the tangle of vengeful rage he’d given into – that he realized warm thin fingers were wrapped around his wrist. Fingers that he recognized.

_You shouldn’t treat me this way, Jim._

_Walking_ _with a friend in the dark is better than_ _walking alone in the light._

_It should be me._

Jim found himself staring down at grey green eyes that held none of the impassive and cold gaze of the previous one. Oswald looked like an abused punching bag but managed a weak smile. “You’re back.”

Jim shook his head back and forth like a dog, as if he could shake off the drug’s effects. The room was still bloody and he could still smell it in the air. He could still see the bodies and feel the caked blood stiffening on his hands and clothes but he knew now that Oswald was the only real thing in the room. He dropped his fist, placing it on the ground beside Oswald’s head.

“The drug,” he said in disbelief. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

“That’s why it’s a drug,” Oswald replied, unable to keep the sarcasm at bay.

Jim chuckled apologetically in response as he took a closer look at the damage that he’d done with his own hands. It definitely didn’t look pretty. He leaned in, the action startling the other man who stiffened underneath him but kept unnaturally still. Jim’s hand left the ground to rest underneath Oswald’s chin, pulling it up slightly to survey the other man’s thin face. No broken bones or nose, that was good. He leaned in closer until he hovered only a hairs breadth away, his fingers traveling up chiseled cheekbones. He pulled the lower eye lid down, gazing deeply into coniferous colored eyes for any abnormal dilation or movement that would indicate a concussion.

“It’s better than it looks,” Jim announced with relief, more to himself, as he pulled away. Oswald seemed dazed, slowly exhaling the breath that he’d been holding the entire time. He opened his mouth to say something but found himself speechless. Just then, the weight on top of him disappeared as Jim was ripped right off of him and he heard a breathless grunt that belonged to the detective. There was a struggle beside him as he got back on his feet.

It was Markus’ big friend that Jim had knocked earlier. The detective was on the floor, struggling to get back on his feet but a painful kick to his side sent him sprawling back. Oswald’s eyes searched the room, landing on the chair. He folded it up, making his way over to the fight that Jim was losing. The detective let out a weary groan as he leaned against the wall, sitting up on the floor but unable to do anything as the other man loomed over him. Just as the other man bent over to grab Jim again, Oswald lifted the chair over his head and brought it down over the giant’s head as hard as he could. The giant fell over on his side, knocked unconscious yet again but not before a key slipped out and clattered onto the ground. Oswald let go of the chair as he picked it up with a triumphant grin.

Jim panted in weary exhaustion as the adrenaline wore off, gasping for air that hurt every time as he clutched his side. He’d definitely have some nasty bruises later. Oswald offered his hand even if they were both a bloody mess, pale in the faint light that filtered into the room. His slender fingers looked so fragile and Jim almost found himself wondering how they could belong to someone like Oswald who was now gazing down at him, genuine worry contorting his thin lips into a slight frown.

“Are you alright, Jim?”

The detective hesitantly accepted Oswald’s hand who pulled him up to his feet with surprising ease.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied as his entire body screamed with every move he made, watching Oswald look him over as if the other man didn’t believe him, fingers still wrapped around his hand. Jim uncomfortably unclasped his hold as a hint but Oswald didn’t seem to notice, staring at him with scrutinizing eyes.

“What?” Jim demanded a bit forcefully, a growl punctuating his irritation at the fact that it seemed like Oswald could read him like an open book.

As if he’d just remembered, Oswald dropped Jim’s hand as if he’d been scalded, eye lashes fluttering rapidly like that of a butterfly’s wings, indicating his stunned bewilderment at the hostile flash in the good detective’s eyes. At him. “W-well… you aren’t well, not after you injected yourself –” Oswald stopped when Jim clamped his eyes shut at that moment, pinching the bridge of his nose that stopped him from continuing any further.

“Jim?” Oswald could hear the cautious concern in his own voice as he took a wary step closer instead of backwards like his instincts told him to.

For a moment, Jim didn’t say anything but he could hear the fear uttered in his name. This drug was some kind of hallucinogen and whatever the stuff was, it was powerful. He could still hear that ghosting voice, chiding him. He’d almost killed Cobblepot and that shook him up more than he wanted it to. He took a shaky breath in when he felt a feather like touch on his shoulder. He snapped his eyes open to see wispy black hair and a pair of green eyes that made the voice go away. At least he wasn’t seeing Vader Cobblepot anymore.

Oswald was more than worried for Jim who seemed relieved to see him, the tension lining the corner of usually hostile eyes faded, as if the detective was happy to see him. Now _that_   was cause for concern.

“Oswald.” It was strange to hear Jim say his name as if it helped regain the detective’s lost footing somehow. Before he could answer, Jim pushed his hand away, clearing his throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be near me right now.” Jim was struggling to push out each word as his conflicted blue eyes shut again. “I may have been able to stop myself from killing you earlier but I can’t guarantee that I can do it again. Not until this wears off. You should go, I’ll take care of this,” he gritted out dismissively. He heard movement retreating away from him but then they returned and he put his palm in front of him, stopping Oswald’s advance just in time. He opened his eyes slowly, greeted with the sight of Oswald holding out a crumpled invitation and his jacket.

“I believe these belong to you.” The intensity of Oswald’s jaded green eyes made Jim’s gut curl – not in alarm like it did in the face of danger – but something else, something he quickly pushed away. He accepted his jacket, hand reaching for the invitation.

“You kept it,” Oswald said quietly, his lips parting into a soft smile as Jim’s fingers grasped the other end. The other man didn’t let go of his end. “It would mean a great deal to me as a friend if you could attend.” Only then did Oswald let go.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Jim warned as Oswald turned his back to him. “Especially since we’re not friends.” The hallucination of Penguin had exposed his darkest fears, all jumbled into one. The fear of losing those around him he held close to his heart. The fear that he would lose himself to the dark as he continued down the path of light. The fear that one day, Oswald Cobblepot was someone he’d have to take down. He had to draw the line between them now so that when that day came, it’d be easier, less painful and conflicted, although it already seemed they were past that point somehow.

The words cut through him like ice, a numbing pain so sharp and clear. Oswald closed his eyes in an attempt to recollect himself before he turned back to Jim. The forced smile Oswald had on was painful to watch and Jim felt a stab of guilt at his harsh words. But he had to make it clear.

“Of course, Jim,” Oswald managed but his eyes were shadowed, his demeanor dark. “I would never force you to do anything. That choice is yours, however, your consideration as my friend is mine. I realize you don’t feel the same way but it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

Jim couldn’t help wishing that Oswald was just like the common sycophants of Gotham. But no, out of all the thugs he had to end up with, it had to be a complicated, emotional, and highly intelligent one. It had to be Oswald Cobblepot who valued friendship. _His_  friendship out of all the cops he could have picked from the GCPD.

“So as a friend, I can promise you this,” Oswald continued quietly. “I’ll find Markus who I’m sure is on the run, especially since by now, he’s seen that everything did not go as he’d planned. I _would_  go after this Gerald Crane myself but I think you’d rather handle it yourself and I have complete faith in you that he’ll receive the necessary punishment for using us as human guinea pigs. Happy hunting to us both.”

 _Us_. No, there was no us, damn it.

“Wait,” Jim called out before he could stop himself. Oswald froze in place, his gaze falling on Jim with curiosity. “You and I… we’re not meant to last,” he started slowly, observing the other man whose face gave nothing away. “One day, I’m going to have to put you behind bars – or if it comes down to it – put you down. We both know that day’s going to come. It’d be better to reconsider who your friends are and take me off that list while you’re at it because I’m not one of them.”

Oswald took a sharp inhale before flashing him a steely smile but the hurt behind his eyes was apparent. “When you make a choice, there are no take backs, Jim.” Oswald said, keeping his poise. “I stand by my choices. Yes, I admit there will be some I’ll regret making…” Wounded eyes fixated on Jim with such ferocity that his own widened in surprise. “But you are not one of them, I can assure you. Whatever the circumstances we may face in the future, I will always consider you as my friend.”

With that, Oswald turned away without another word, limping toward the locked door, key in hand.

Jim’s fingers played with the invitation still in his hand as his mind did a wild array of flips and somersaults that was about to drive him crazy. Everything about Oswald wasn’t black and white as he wanted it to be. His eyes followed Oswald’s limping figure and he just had the strangest feeling that he had somehow completely crushed the other man with his straight forward words.

And it nagged at him. It _bothered_  him, even more than an unsolved case did. But this wasn’t a new revelation for him, not really. He’d always known deep down in the crevices of his mind but he’d denied it just as strongly. Rational intuition told him to let Oswald walk away but his irrational emotions said otherwise…

“You were wrong, you know,” Jim blurted out and immediately regretting it. The limping figure paused at the words though, hand resting on the doorknob. “I may walk in the light but that doesn’t mean I’m alone.” Now he’d really done it.

Oswald urged his body to leave, before Jim could say worse but hope paralyzed him – the possibility that the detective didn’t completely detest him kept his feet in place. Jim’s friendship was something he treasured, though how much, even he didn’t know. He just wanted to salvage what he could of their friendship, no matter how much Jim condemned it.

“Everyone casts a shadow in the light, whether they like it or not,” Jim continued behind him, the detective’s strong voice filled up the room with an intensity comparable to the sun’s rays, pleasant yet fierce with the likely possibility of burning him, yet he didn’t have the will to leave, not until Jim finished. “And the reality of it is – just like Fish was Harvey’s, just like Falcone was my father’s…” There was a tentative pause. Oswald gripped the knob, telling himself to jam the key in and leave but found himself unable to. “ – you’re mine.”

The words punched the air out of him, leaving Oswald gaping at the door in front of him. He almost couldn’t believe his ears.

“You’re my shadow,” Jim repeated as if the detective could read his mind. “I know that now. It doesn’t mean I consider you a friend of mine but we can’t survive in this city without each other. I won’t deny that anymore.”

A surprisingly pleasant warmth filled chest, coursing through the rest of his body that drove away any previous wounds he’d sustained earlier in their conversation. It was a huge thing for Jim Gordon to admit to a person like him but Oswald found himself unsatisfied. He wanted more. He wanted Jim to accept him for who he was, not just the reality of the fact that they were two sides of the same coin. His selfish desire made him want to leave the detective with a few parting words.

“I appreciate your honesty, Jim. More than words can possibly express.” Oswald spun around perfectly with stunning accuracy, jade green eyes locking onto ice blue ones, the intense clash of eye contact almost tangible. “But knowing what’s real and accepting it are two very different things and I believe that you haven’t come to terms with accepting what that reality is. Correct me if I’m wrong.” Jim’s silence was all he needed to verify what he already knew. “Or rather, you can’t accept my existence because of what I am. I truly believe that you’re a good judge of character so I ask one favor from you – that you judge me for who I am, not what I am.”

Oswald inserted the key into the door and pushed it open, his uneven footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Jim alone with his own thoughts.

* * *

 

Jim shut out Harvey’s nagging. Sometimes, his partner was more annoying than he was.

“How could you make a hunch and go without me?”

He weaved his way past fellow officers toward his desk where Nygma waved at him. He waved back with a stiff smile, unable to make it as genuine as he would have liked from Harvey’s persistent scolding who followed him. “I had no idea that my hunch would be right.” In the end, Jim had excluded Cobblepot’s involvement out of his official report as well as from Harvey. He’d simply said that he’d found an address to an abandoned warehouse under Crane’s name and went to investigate. It was less of a headache that way and Oswald hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Yeah and come back beaten up like you’re some pincushion. Is it a good idea for you to be back to work so soon?”

“I’ve never been better,” he replied as he arrived at his desk. “What have you got for me, Ed?”

“First of all, I’m glad to see that you’re alright, detective.”

Jim nodded. “Thanks.”

Edward Nygma straightened his glasses, presenting Jim with a folder. “From the sample of your blood, I was able to match and verify that all of the nine murderers had the same drug present in their systems. It was easy to miss since their dosage wasn’t anywhere near your amount.”

“How much was I dosed with?” Jim asked, curious.

“Exactly triple. I could give you the exact amount but I don’t think that would interest you,” Ed finished, eyeing Harvey. “And another interesting thing is that there’s a partial match when we compared the chemical makeup of Jonathan Crane’s medical records. The compound they couldn’t identify in the end.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Harvey voiced, a hint of revulsion in his voice. “Crane was testing out this other drug on other human beings before he combined it with whatever he did with the adrenal glands which he used on his son? All to “cure” fear?”

Nygma nodded bluntly.

“Jim and those other murderers were preliminary tests for Crane to collect the necessary data of whether fear or emotion would triumph.”

“We know the answer to that,” Jim said as he folded his arms over each other, deep in thought. The drug did too well of a job personifying a person’s fears so realistically and projecting it on another human being. He understood now from his personal experience that fear was a powerful motivator, blinding you to what was real and what wasn’t.

“I just love this city more and more.” Harvey opened his arms with a shrug, expressing his confusion. “But then, why didn’t Jim kill anyone?”

Jim realized he’d been wanting to ask the same thing.

“Now that’s the question, isn’t it Detective Bullock?”

Harvey ran a hand down his face. “Don’t. Just give it to me straight. No riddles, Ed.”

“I don’t know.”

The room fell into a quiet hush.

“You’re kidding me,” Harvey finally said. “I mean, we all know Jim’s a complete angel and all but…”

“Wait,” Jim intervened. “There has to be a reason why it didn’t completely work on me, right?”

“Data says otherwise. Human beings are physically incapable of resisting the effect of any drug, no matter how much they want to,” Ed stated. “Jim should have killed the other man, especially with the amount of the drug that was present in his system.”

Jim found that he didn’t want to ask any more questions.

* * *

 

“You can take off those blindfolds off of them now, Butch. Leave them gagged though.”

“Sure thing boss,” the bulky man answered obediently. As the other man did his bidding, Oswald was still finding himself reluctant that Butch was completely under his control. Victor had done a splendid job and he wondered how exactly Zsasz had pulled it off.

Oswald slowly paced in front of two people on their knees as Butch joined him back at his side behind him. He ignored the feeling of distrust of having the huge man near him and smiled down at his most recent acquaintance who now looked at him with terror that was invigorating.

“It’s nice to see you again, Markus.” He folded his hands over each other. “But I’m afraid you and I have unfinished business.”

Markus looked over to the woman beside him, the recognition and horror on both of their faces were undeniable.

“Your plan was ingenious,” Oswald complimented genuinely. “But I’m afraid you underestimated Jim Gordon and I – our relationship, in essence.”

Markus ferociously shook his head, shouting muddle words before silencing himself with the icy glare that Oswald lobbed at him.

“Oh you deny it,” Oswald said haughtily. “But believe me, you’re not the only one or the last to make that mistake.” He swept his hand around the room they were in. “I’m sure you know exactly where we are.”

He found satisfaction in the frightful eyes that dimly lit up fearfully in recognition. It was the room he and Jim and been trapped in only a day prior.

“I’m afraid you did something unforgivable that I can’t let go.” Oswald slipped a hand inside his jacket, searching his inner pocket. “You hurt Jim Gordon who I consider a good friend of mine, like family, ah –” He pulled out the needle filled with a liquid he was sure Markus would recognize. “– so I found it appropriate that your girlfriend join you in this test of friendship. It’s poetic, really, I give you credit for that.”

He popped the cap off the needle, looking from Markus to his girlfriend and back. “So, who’s it going to be?”

* * *

 

The club was no longer what he remembered from his previous visits with Harvey. Fish was but a fading memory, Jim thought as he rushed through the rain toward the entrance. He didn’t have much time. It was date night with Leslie today but this was something on the top of his to-do list. The door opened smoothly into a dimly lit room, lacking the bright lighting that Fish appreciated. He found himself disturbingly appreciating the twilight atmosphere of it though, eyes searching the room, ignoring the pair of imposing guards who were making their way to him.

Oswald had been thinking of how to make improvements to his club. He wasn’t particularly that great in this business due to the lack of experience but he would learn. He would. The rush of the sound of wind and rain as the door opened caught his attention and his eyes flicked in the direction of the entrance. Unconsciously, he rose from his seat when he saw who his visitor was.

Jim had come.

With a pleased smile, he made his way to meet Jim halfway, his limping gait with a vigorous bounce to it. He took the time to appreciate this moment, a moment when his friendship with Jim was something unique and special. The two guards parted when he approached, revealing Jim who looked less than happy but the small smile in his eyes was all Oswald needed.

 _There would come a time when Jim would come in here with a different intention, the law forcing the detective to point that gun at him. It was inevitable and was as undeniable as their friendship_ –

Oswald offered his hand in the air and Jim gripped it as they shook hands.

– _but he had faith in Jim Gordon. He always would_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd appreciate it if you can give me a tiny update on our babies. *sobs* I haven't watched the second season yet and I'm dying to know what’s happening. Is Jim and Oswald at each other's throats yet? Are there more Gobblepot scenes? Is Oswald being the glorious sadistic lil' bird and rockin' that throne like he deserves? Little tidbits plz?! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you're doing well. ;3


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